


Afraid of Heights

by Starkangejr



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Bruises, Choking, Humiliation, M/M, Partners in Crime, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Restraints, Rough Sex, Wade's mentioned and so are others, ish, mentions of punishment, semi, sorta - Freeform, the focus is on Pete/Quen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23419612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkangejr/pseuds/Starkangejr
Summary: Professional Hitman/Killer AU---Peter’s been doing this job for quite some time.At first glance anyone would be hard pressed to pick up on it. Not when he looks like he’s a small teenager with big, round doe brown eyes, an out of control hairstyle and clothing to match. He looks too young, looks far too innocent and harmless. It’s a part of his gimmick.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 13
Kudos: 95
Collections: Spiderio 18+ Exchange April 2020





	Afraid of Heights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TenMoreSins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenMoreSins/gifts).



> I hope I did your request justice uwu I’m super nervous about this but please enjoy
> 
> I wrote this for the Spiderio Exchange! This is specifically for Tenmoresins

Peter’s been doing this job for quite some time.

At first glance anyone would be hard pressed to pick up on it. Not when he looks like he’s a small teenager with big, round doe brown eyes, an out of control hairstyle and clothing to match. He looks too young, looks far too innocent and harmless. It’s a part of his gimmick. Peter doesn’t try to dress to impress—three-piece suits, Rolex watches— _bleh_. He’s always been more comfortable in the casual-chic territory and obviously it would be stupid to buy expensive clothing and flaunt his cash flow like _some_ other idiots he knows—Flash Thompson if we’re going to get specific.

No.

Peter is better, _so_ much smarter. He knows how to coyly look at his targets, prettily bat his eyelashes _just_ right and wobble his lower lip to get them crooning over him. It doesn’t matter what he’s wearing, they only want him and that’s exactly how he isolates them from a crowd. Sometimes he feels bad for the targets. A lot of the time though, he doesn’t feel much of anything at all.

Peter knows it’s easier this way. He doesn’t have to get attached to anything. He takes care of his Aunt in secret—anonymous donations meant to help her through her grief. He lives alone with a pretty discreet loft apartment in the hub of Manhattan and Peter doesn’t hang out much with anyone that’s not part of the agency. It’s stupid to have a double life—all the lies, the secrecy, the _stress_. He dropped off the social map—convenient false death to help close off anyone from following up with him—and he came back to the world incognito, living and breathing his work.

They call him Spider-Man—stupid, he knows, but everyone professional has a moniker to protect their identity, even if it’s a little on the nose sometimes. They chose it because of how Peter snares his victims into a deceptive web of chubby cheeks and a promise of a good night before slitting their throats. He refused Black Widow—hated the idea that the guys might use it against him in some frat-boy-can’t-grow-up-so-he-bullies-coworkers kind way. They knew better than to mess with him; though from fear of the boss or Peter’s skill was unclear.

Wade’s good to him. Peter is pretty certain he’s the favorite. And how could he not be? He’s made an art of his work. The assignments Wade gives him can’t be delivered to anyone else, they require Peter’s personal touch. This not only ensures job security but also Peter’s confidence that he is the best in their little agency.

He can’t be replaced. This is simply fact.

* * *

Peter’s minding his business on his day off, taking a stroll through Central Park when MJ catches him off guard. She’s like a bright light at the end of a dark tunnel, guarded smile but easy to read as she confesses that she snuck out for her break.

“I’m telling you Pete, this mark is _the_ worst. He deserves to bite it, you know?”

“So why don’t you just finish it early?” Peter eggs, a small smile creeping on the edge of his lips as he listens to her complaint.

“Cuz that’s against the rules. You know it has to look legit. Wade would have my head if I start cutting corners.” MJ scoffs, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Peter’s hum is the only reply she’s given before MJ swats his shoulder with a sharp palm. “Ow!” He yelps, not hurt but not expecting the assault. His hand tends to the wound as he tosses a puppy dog look her way.

“Hello, earth to Peter. Don’t you ‘mhm’ me. This is serious!” She shouts but thankfully New York is full of people who mind their own business.

“I’m listening!!” Peter pouts harder until MJ’s glare turns to an incredulous stare. He tries to shrink inside of his shirt.

“Liar. Something on your mind?” She asks, sharp as a tack.

“Isn’t there always?” He deflects, gaze darting across the path, looking around as they circuit through the beautiful scenery and semi-crowded tourist location.

“Don’t be cheeky.” MJ threatens with a wagging finger and he gives a small laugh, swaying away from her a bit to avoid being smacked again. “No but for real, you good?”

Peter marvels a bit at one of the only two people he considers his friend. MJ’s ability to read him is almost as scary as when Aunt May used to do it.

“Just been..tired.” He confesses with a defeated roll of his eyes. He hates how easy it is for her to get him to open up.

“You sleeping at all?” She asks, tilting her head to look at him with a closer eye. He’s grateful for the concern in her tone of voice.

“Yea. Yea, this is different. I’m almost—oh god and don’t let this reach Wade but—I guess I’m bored? I don’t know.” Peter avoids eye contact like it’s the plague and he rambles like he has no common sense to stop him.

“Bored?! Are you kidding me? This is the most adrenaline packed, blood pumping job you’ll ever have. There’s nothing like this out there, Pete.” Her voice conveys every thought in her head without saying anything. She thinks he’s crazy. Peter cringes, wanting to beat himself up for saying anything in the first place.

“I-I know! I know. I’m sorry—I don’t know why I said it. Maybe it’s just getting too easy.” He sighs, giving up on explaining it correctly.

“Easy?” She scoffs, “You want anything harder and you’ll be looking at death’s door, ya hear? Agency doesn’t like to hear talk like that, you’re lucky this is between us.”

“..Yea..yea you’re right. Sorry, it’s fine. I’m actuall—”

“Peter, watch out!” MJ shouts. He’s distracted, trying to process his thoughts and MJ’s reactions all at once that he doesn’t see it. He crashes face first into someone turning away from one of the food carts, drinks in hand and trying to avoid the crowd only to slam right into him.

They’re both drenched in a sticky slush of colored ice and Peter’s hands are planted right on something broad. He glances up, unintentionally groping the pecs of a man that has no right to look so devilishly handsome while doused in red and blue ice chunks. Peter sputters, pulling his hands away as he steadies himself, feeling strange as he tries to apologize.

“I am so sorry, Mister..I-” Peter doesn’t realize he’s putting on the act so expertly. It’s got people from all around him turning to try and help Peter out. A few _‘Poor dear’_ s and _‘Aw honey, let me help you’_ s as napkins are pushed at his face. Peter can’t focus straight until MJ is shooing them all away and snatching the napkins from the bystanders.

“Thank you, thank you! That’s enough! Thanks!” She hisses, glaring most of the interested crowd away before she turns to Peter. “You okay?”

Peter gives a nod, about to answer her when the stranger finally speaks up. 

“What’s your name?” Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Handsome’s voice is sultry and it's not the least bit fair because Peter is certain his brain is having a meltdown. He's always so composed, so aware of his surroundings that he hates how off guard this has caught him. It's not right.

He manages a quiet, "..Peter." after performing some mental gymnastics just to reel back in his control on what's going on. He didn't notice the guy and they're both sticky with food coloring and sugar. This doesn't have to blow up anymore than it's already become but Peter is ready for anything as he looks up through long lashes and asks, "and yours?"

"Beck." There's a tilt to Beck's head that has his perfectly coiffed hair coming out of place. Peter wonders when he last paid attention to such things, not hearing a word of what the man said until the very end. "..my cell to exchange information."

Peter blinks, taking a napkin from MJ to wipe away a droplet from his chin as he stares. "Excuse me?"

"How else are we going to swap insurance details?" Beck seems quite serious about his question and Peter glances at MJ for any hint this guy is fucking with him.

"Well, my break is almost over. Petey, you're in good hands so I'll just--bye." She's covering her mouth with a hand to stop from snickering out loud and Peter _knows_ that look. He's too late to catch her wrist before she's waving goodbye and skipping away. She gives him a wink as the final nail in the coffin and Peter screams inside his head. He can't even see how red his face is and he hopes that it's mistaken for the red slushie residue.

"Uhm..right. Sorry about my friend there, Mr. Beck." Peter awkwardly apologizes, swearing to whatever god is listening that he'll catch MJ later for abandoning him.

"Don't worry about it. Happens all the time." Beck smirks down at him and Peter's instincts bristle.

"Wow, really? Kind of full of yourself, aren't you?" Sometimes his mouth moves faster than his brain and Peter pales as soon as he realises what he says. However Beck's laugh shatters the expectation of a punch to the face. The sound is smooth and flows through Peter like a husky siren song.

"Yea you could say that." Beck humors him, the expression naked and honest and totally too open for this to be real.

Peter quirks a brow at the man—trying desperately to figure this out—while Beck gives an easy smile and starts to tug off his sweater right there in the middle of the walkway. He reveals a tight white t-shirt underneath and a full course invite to stare at just how truly wide and expansive his chest is. Beck's got muscles the likes of which Peter can only _dream_ of. He swallows to avoid staring, Peter purposefully tears his eyes off Beck's abs, collarbone, waist and simply looks at the ground.

"Shame about the sweater though..really liked it." Beck murmurs, looking over the ruined clothing and Peter suddenly wants to make it up to him for some insane reason.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Beck.." he starts, unable to help himself, "I could get you a new one." Peter offers, already wondering what thrift shop he could scour for something similar.

"Naw..don't worry about it kid. Besides, what kind of deviant would take money from a twelve year old?" Beck jokes, eyeing Peter as if he had two heads.

"Twelve!?" Peter snorts, snapping to attention as he scoffs at the misjudgment. He's never cared how young his victims mistook him for in the past, but when Beck does it, something in Peter fights and he corrects the man almost immediately. "I'm twenty five, Mr. Beck and you better not forget it." 

"Oh yea? Then instead of insurance swapping, how about I take you to dinner as an apology for this whole mess?"

"Again with the insurance..are you right in the head?" Peter chides, trying to gauge what game this guy is playing at. 

"People tend to call me quirky." Beck shrugs, nonchalant as he folds the sweater and tucks it under his arm.

"And why should I agree to dinner? Why shouldn't I leave? Walk away right now?" Peter's only _now_ found his footing and he's pretty prepared to navigate this conversation up to where he gets away without another word to this stranger.

"Because you look like you need it. A break." Beck offers, his eyes staring directly inside of Peter's own. It's like a bullseye through the head, right on the mark and the shock keeps Peter speechless. Normal people aren't like this. They aren't clever. They're predictable and Beck is everything but. An exception.

After a painful silence between them, Beck uses his fingers to gesture for Peter to come closer. "C'mere. Give me your phone."

Peter obeys, curious as he crosses his arms over his chest, feeling the wet patch on his shirt mocking him that he isn't wearing anything underneath like Beck has.

"This is my number. Text me when you want to go out and I'll show up wherever you like. I won't even text myself to save your number. Deal?" Beck clarifies before he hands Peter back his phone. He has an easy smile that's infectious and Peter finds himself nodding. "Sorry about your shirt, by the way, you can have this one. I got it for my sister but I can always get her a new one."

Peter takes both items and stares into the plastic bag to see a distressed gray shirt with a white heart smack in the middle, showing the statue of liberty and skyscrapers inside of the heart shape. He unravels it to reveal the words of New York under the logo. It's not the ugliest I love NYC shirt he's ever seen but it's definitely meant for a girl. He also has no desire to walk around with dried slushie massacre across his chest all day. 

"Thanks," he gives a timid nod, clearly burning with foreign emotions he hasn't felt in years as he pulls his shirt off and replaces it with the gift. At least it fits. "I'll have to think about the dinner part though. It's not every day a random stranger only puts their number in your phone and says they'll take you out just because of some sugary ice accident."

"Well I wasn't going to at first—it was going to be purely business but then you convinced me." Beck explains it like it's the easiest solution on the planet.

"What? I didn't even say anything about dinner! Or repayment for the damage. You said you don't want a new sweater." Peter reminds Beck and he watches the slowly becoming insufferable way that Beck's lips expertly pull up into a grin. Peter wants to rub it off his stupid handsome face.

"Exactly. I don't. And I said it for you." Beck gives another shrug, as if that simply explains everything. Peter blinks at him, for once at a loss for words. This guy is surely insane, which is upsetting because he's hot as hell. It's a shame really.

"Alright you convinced me." Beck blurts suddenly into the silence again.

"What?" Peter blusters, quirking a curious eye at Beck again.

"Let's get lunch too. Have you eaten yet?" Beck asks, cleaning up as much as he can the plastic mess on the ground and throwing everything away, including his sweater.

"I-no, but why lunch now? I didn't say anything." Peter stares, wondering if he's truly made a mistake entertaining this any longer than he should have. He gets carried away often, and now he might not be able to escape this one.

"You don't have to. Let me take you to lunch." Beck insists and his jovial smile hits Peter with another odd sensation.

"I'm busy." Is his immediate retort, trying to cut this goodbye short.

"I can wait." Beck practically chirps. Peter hates how smooth Beck acts, like he's actively trying to pick him up on a date right now. It’s different from what he’s used to however and that gives Beck an unfair advantage. 

"You're really not going to let this go, huh?" Peter finally asks, sighing and on the brink of just letting whatever is happening to play out.

"Nope. Besides, what's more exciting, hanging out with me or walking through the park alone?" Beck's got Peter there. It would be more fun to finish his stroll with a little unexpected turn of events, _or_ he could simply outright ignore this psycho and move on with his life. He shoves his wet and ruined shirt into the plastic bag and loops the handles over his wrist before gesturing at Beck with a wave.

"Lead the way then."

* * *

Peter learns that Beck is more than quirky. He's full tilt out of his mind. It's charming, though, in a very odd sort of way. Beck doesn't hold anything back and sometimes his honesty is more than Peter can handle.

It's weird.

Peter’s mind hasn’t struggled this hard to wrap around someone in such a long time. He’s watching Beck eat a taco from the top and Peter can’t keep silent anymore.

“Are you insane? Did you get brought up by savages?” He blurts, trying to take away Beck’s taco from his hands. The man simply laughs, using his longer arms to keep his taco out of Peter’s reach.

“Hey! I’m trying to eat here!” Beck fake whines, his attempts at returning to his previous eating position ruined with Peter’s flailing hands.

“No you’re not! That’s not how you eat a taco.” Peter protests vehemently, rolling his eyes when he doesn't succeed at saving the taco.

“Oh yea? Are you the taco eating police?” Beck smirks, expression just displaying how full of himself he truly is.

“I’ll have you know I graduated with high honors in the eating properly department.” Peter retorts, easily giving as much as he’s given. Two can play at this game.

“Oh well excuse me, Princess.” Beck rolls his eyes, smile still tugging at his eyes as he chews weirdly on his taco again, purposefully avoiding Peter’s attempts to stop him.

“Beck.” Peter warns, though there is humor in his own voice. He decides to let it go. He’s the bigger man here obviously. “First of all, this is the weirdest dinner date I’ve ever been on, I’ll have you know. And second of all..I think I’m slowly understanding your whole gimmick.”

“Is that so? Then maybe I need to step up my game. You seem like the type to lose interest in things quickly.” Beck explains with a matter of fact tone that stabs the younger man clean through. Peter blushes at the accurate guess, stumped for a moment as he chews on his taco to give his mouth something to do. There’s a follow up shrug afterwards when Peter thinks he’s got a handle on his reply.

“Can you blame me? City life isn’t all that’s cracked up to be. Kind of boring ya know?” He hedges, just on the cusp of speaking the truth and still playing at being a normal young adult. He can’t exactly say the true reason after all. He's bored, sure but it has nothing to do with normal boredom standards.

“Well now I _have_ to take you dancing.” Beck decides promptly.

“What?” Peter finds himself saying what a lot around Beck. The older man catches him off guard so many times and sometimes Beck's statements are so outlandish, Peter has nothing else to say except, what.

“Yea, c’mon, finish that taco already or I’m going to steal it. We’re going dancing.” Beck threatens, reaching his big hands towards Peter and giving his side a poke before the other hand tries to swipe Peter’s taco.

“Hey! Watch it, I'm not even dressed properly! Oi!” Peter swats at Beck and practically shoves the whole shell of his taco into his mouth. He regrets the action immediately because of how childish it is to stuff his face full of minced meat, shredded cheese and lettuce. He’s not in grade school anymore but something about Beck brings it out of Peter.

"Look at your little chipmunk face. And who cares. That shirt looks good on you. No one is going to be looking at your clothes anyway. Just your sick moves." Beck explains through rasping, giddy, little laughs, trying not to make fun of Peter and failing because of the way he ate his taco. Beck's laughter only manages to infect Peter’s mood and he covers his mouth to stop from spitting up his food, swallowing in bits of what we can manage. He smacks repeatedly at Beck’s arm to fend him off, before Peter chokes and it’s such an odd feeling when he decides he wants to keep seeing where the night will take him.

It’s fun and Peter doesn’t often let himself get carried away. He’s almost forgotten what it's like to talk to someone who isn't a target, to treat Beck like a human being and not only another mark. It’s kind of crazy how easy it is for him to be so friendly with this man and Peter is pushing his boundaries more and more as they end up at a nightclub.

The music reverberates through the thick walls, thumping silently to whatever DJ mix is playing inside. Peter realizes he hasn’t gone dancing like this before and he can tell Beck is staring at him.

“What?” Peter’s defensive, arms across his chest before rethinking that and merely shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“You look nervous.” Beck supplies smoothly.

“No!” Peter’s panic can’t get out of his head for two seconds and he feels bad for almost snapping at the man. “...well, maybe a little.” He confesses with a sigh before he sees the look Beck gives him.

“Give me a break, I’ve never done this before, okay?” Peter asks, looking towards the other people in the line and wondering if he’s too under or over dressed now. Was this a mistake?

“Gone on a date?” Beck quirks with an amused grin.

“No! Dancing!” Peter defends, voice more shrill than he intends. And then his brain begins to start playing catch up as he teases Beck right back. “Wait, this is a date? You’re not only doing this to evade insurance fraud?”

“I don’t take just _anyone_ to Taco Bell for dinner.” Beck is teasing him though, and Peter is insanely okay with that. It’s strangely relaxing. Peter feels like he _should_ be annoyed but instead, he merely wants this sensation to never end.

The club is full of people, almost all of them jumping and vibing on the dance floor. Peter realizes faintly that maybe this was a mistake before Beck’s ushering him towards a small corner near the bar. He orders something Peter can’t hear the name of and what’s put in his hands is a fruity monstrosity. He laughs.

“Is this to make up for earlier?” He shouts, trying to be overheard from the pounding music. Beck only smiles and nudges the drink so that the straw pokes Peter's lips.

“Just try it! You’ll like it.” Beck assures him and Peter does as he’s bid. He hates how right Beck is when the drink hits his tongue. It’s sweet and in a dangerous way because he’s almost certain there is definitely alcohol in here. He eyes Beck who sips his own drink like it’s an iced tea, sucking on the straw and giving Peter butterflies in his stomach. He slurps at his fruity beverage for some liquid courage and after three glasses in, he’s being coaxed to join Beck on the dance floor.

Beck has pretty good skills and he twirls Peter around as if they aren’t stuck in a sea of bodies. It’s amazing and exhilarating and Peter’s mind is a wild mess with all the strange new sensations buzzing through his body at the moment. Peter feels like he’s on cloud nine and he makes no protests when one of Beck’s spins has him pulled close to the older man’s body. Peter feels the warmth radiating off Beck’s body and then he feels the heat from everyone else around them. It's a little stifling and he has to rest his forehead onto the sturdy chest for a second. There’s a soft rumble that reaches his ears and he recognizes it as Beck’s jovial laugh. Peter smiles in kind, humming and letting them sway towards the exit.

“Want me to walk you home?” Beck asks as soon as they’re outside, the ringing of music dying from Peter’s eardrums, which finally allow him to swim clearly through his delirious thoughts. He nods, closing his eyes as he stays close, face half-smooshed into Beck’s arm. He takes a mini nap on the ride home which is so good and only slightly worrying in the back of his mind because he hasn't felt this safe and secure since—well, when he was living with his Aunt. Peter can't even let his guard down around MJ long enough to tell her the truth, let alone a stranger like Beck. Yet he never once jerks awake with fear or panic about who’s watching him and Peter thinks he could get used to this sensation too.

Beck helps half carry him out of the cab when they arrive and Peter giggles, squeezing a bicep for support. “I think I’m starting to like you..”

“Only just starting now?” Beck hums, peering down at him with those damn alluring eyes.

“Mhmm.” Peter doesn’t even have enough sense to quickly look away. He simply melts and sinks further into the comfort of Beck’s warmth.

“Petey, you’re drunk.” Beck sighs, shaking his head.

“Nah uhn.” He pouts. Peter may not drink often but he’s pretty sure he’d know if he was drunk. This didn’t feel like he’s drunk. It feels nice.

“Definitely. C’mon, let’s get you inside. There you go.” Beck rifles along his body for his keys and Peter would complain if he had any true fighting energy left. The door swings wide open and somehow Beck manages to lead him right to his beautiful bedroom. Peter flops on his bed, immediately grabbing a pillow to bury and nuzzle his face into, humming at the familiar softness. Beck comes back with a glass of water and forces him to drink before Peter conks out. Peering with one eye open, the younger man watches Beck move around the apartment and right as Beck comes back over to check on him, Peter tugs on his wrist.

“Come here.” He demands, pulling Beck down on top of him. He gets nearly squashed with massive pecs, laugh trickling out of him like a stream as Peter shoves Beck to the other side of the bed where there’s room for his big body.

“Little fast, there aren’t we? You didn’t even go dutch on the bill.” Beck teases, grinning towards Peter who simply groans and smooshes Beck’s face with his hand, trying to smother him and failing.

“Shut up, you’re only going to be a giant pillow, okay? That’s all this is.” Peter explains, wrapping his body around the widest parts of Beck’s body. He has an arm wrapped firmly against his chest and has his legs already tangled across Beck’s waist. Best. Body Pillow. Ever.

“Oh yea? Do pillows get to sleep under the covers?” Beck’s voice is quiet, a faint whisper drifting somehow very close to Peter’s ear which only causes him to shiver against the larger man.

“Hrm..lemme think about.” Peter murmurs, nuzzling further into the captured arm before he gives a silent nod. The last thing he remembers is Beck pulling the comforter over them both, Peter falling asleep to the sound of Beck’s silent breathing.

* * *

Weeks later Wade hands him his newest assignment. His target is someone infamous in their world. A hitman called Mysterio; the one who dances when he kills people, always hiding his face behind a unique masquerade party mask. Rumor has it that Mysterio seems to have more of a good time when it means ending someone else’s life. They say he's ruthless in a way that makes their world so renowned. Peter doesn’t know what the agency is thinking—taking up a hit on another hitman is like asking for agency revenge wars. Peter normally doesn’t question Wade's decisions when he gives an order, but this time the unspoken "be careful" has Peter more on edge than normal. There’s no photo, only a description and a location.

He's worked on less details before but the target has never _been_ one of them. Peter wonders vaguely if this is a test. Perhaps the agency doesn't trust Wade's selection and so they've given Peter something that should be impossible to do. Looking over the file again, he notes how it seems like Mysterio has done something to mark himself as a rogue agent. No other details about it are given. At least the bounty is worth all the trouble. 

Peter huddles with a hot cup of white chocolate from Starbucks, inconspicuously perched on a bench outside and simply staring across the street to the supposed hideout. He hasn’t seen a hide or hair of anyone go in or out of the building since he started his stake out. He leaves a little camera pointed towards the place too, just in case that when he goes to pretend to go do something else, he can ensure he hasn't been found out yet. Even still, nothing happens. He's busy reviewing the footage on his phone, sipping at his drink, trying to seem like he's minding his own business when Beck spooks him.

“Surprise Princess.”

Peter yelps in alarm at the sudden warm breath on his naked nape and the sound of Beck’s voice sneaking up on him. He’s red as a fire truck engine and seething a little with annoyance as he gives a little weak kick towards the already half fleeing man. Peter puts a bit of a whine in his tone. “Don’t do that! I almost dropped my drink.”

“Aww, I’m sorry, I was just passing by and saw you. Thought you looked too cute.” Beck hums, making a circling motion in front of Peter before he deems it safe enough to come sit on the lower part of the bench, where the actual seats are and not on the table section like Peter. “What’re doing out here in the cold?”

“Instagram.” He lies smoothly, giving a little shrug as he lets Beck invade his leg space. Nothing is going on across the street anyway, he can spare a few moments.

“That’s even cuter.” Beck smirks at him and Peter can die of embarrassment already and hope to never feel it ever again.

“What are you doing here Beck? Are you stalking me?” Peter is only slightly joking, though he knows that Beck would probably flip it on him in some seriously convincing manner. He gets goosebumps just thinking about it.

“Not this time. I happened to recognize you. I’m actually headed to a meeting with a few people from work. No reason not to come say hi though.” Beck smiles and Peter squirms as his stomach does a few backflips.

“Well..Hi then.” Peter replies lamely and he shifts when Beck stands to his feet. The man reaches out and adjusts Peter’s skull cap over his eyebrows and ears. It’s oddly intimate and extra embarrassing to do this out in public but he’s not exactly going to stop Beck either.

“Hey.” Beck leans in and Peter darts away at the last second, laughing nervously as he stands on his own two feet and moves to toss his drink away. He doesn’t know why he does that. He wasn’t even finished with the drink yet! Beck almost expertly interrupts his flying thoughts however. “Have dinner with me tonight? Somewhere nice this time.”

Peter chuckles, feeling the fluttery sensation in his chest bubble up as he bites the inside of his cheek and he turns to give Beck a critical stare. “If I overdress because of you, you’re gonna get it.”

“I promise, you won’t regret it.” Beck moves forward and Peter is already on the defensive, body coiled tight to spring into action. He gets a hug goodbye instead, and Peter wishes faintly that he hadn’t been so short with the man. Peter's chest aches and he wonders what it could mean for his career if a simple hug can destroy him like this.

* * *

The place Beck picks is fancier than Peter’s ever taken himself to and he doesn’t know how Beck manages to get reservations but the young man is impressed. He drinks a wine that has a french name and laughs loudly at Beck’s jokes and actually enjoys his night. This is the second time Peter’s felt this strange buzz and he grabs tightly onto the feeling. Waiting for the car outside he does something crazy, pulling Beck in for a deep, grateful kiss.

It’s everything Peter's ever wanted except times ten. Beck’s lips are so strong and warm against his own. Every bit of the man steals Peter’s breath away and he wants to chase this sensation forever. He wants it in his life. He somehow manages to convince Beck to come back to his place, only very nearly holding off on the desire to grind against the man's lap on the cab ride home.

Peter slams them into the wall the second his door is open enough to let them in. Beck’s arm moves out of view, but Peter doesn’t care because he’s dragging Beck’s face down on his own, kissing him heavily and letting the man devour his lips.

There’s a weak, “Pete,” from Beck’s mouth and the younger man simply shakes his head. 

“No talking. Just lemme have this..” Peter husks out, looking up at the older man before he tilts his head back for Beck to mark up his neck. Beck does so without question, harsh teeth coming down on delicate flesh, biting and sucking until his throat is covered in soft hickeys. Peter whines, looping skinny arms around the broad neckline and growing stiff in his trousers.

“You sure?” Beck asks for final confirmation and Peter nods quickly, ready to climb the man if he has to, just to prove how serious he is about this.

Beck does all the heavy lifting and god, does that get Peter’s blood _flowing_. He wraps his legs around the thick waist. He's so much smaller than Beck and Peter is loving every second of it. He’s blinded by lust. His body practically attuned to the older man, as Peter tugs and runs his hands through Beck’s stupidly soft and nice hair, trying to muss it up to reflect how Peter feels. Beck’s stronger than he looks however, when he tosses Peter onto the bed and leaves him squawking at the sudden displacement.

Peter sits up, legs spread wide as he gets himself ready to fling an annoyed rant, but instead he’s distracted by watching Beck’s strip show. Peter watches, enraptured as the older man slowly peels off his dapper suit and Peter doesn’t know how _he’s_ **_still_** dressed right now. He’s so hard in his shorts, he thinks he might explode early if Beck doesn’t come to him. Peter leans back against his pillows and sheets, spreading his hands down across his chest as he whines in frustration. 

“Hurry Mr. Beck..I need you.” Peter huffs, moaning as he undresses slowly out of his own clothing, the buttons popping as he exposes his chest to the room but barely gets it off his arms before he's fumbling with his trousers. His cock is nearly freed when Beck’s large hands stop him and Peter flops back fully against his mattress with a suddenly grateful sigh. Beck’s hands are warm against his naked skin and the more undressed he becomes, the more Peter squirms. He knows exactly what he wants and Beck plays into his hands at every turn.

“God, look at you, Princess. So needy for me.” Beck groans, his hands spreading Peter’s legs slowly, his voice almost reverent as he slides his palms up and down his soft flesh, testing and feeling Peter’s body with great big handfuls.

“Yes.” Peter moans, rocking his hips into the air, his cock fully hard despite Beck only touching him like a trophy, a prize. It drives Peter insane, feeling insanely validated that Beck wants him as much as Peter wants Beck. Those large, massive hands avoid touching his weeping cock and Peter starts to fidget in a fit for some friction. Beck doesn’t hesitate to grab his jacket sleeves, twisting the clothing in such a way that it traps Peter with only one hand. Beck pulls down tight against the fabric and effectively traps him in his own clothing. Peter lets out a frustrated grunt, pouting up at the other man.

“Please, Mr. Beck, please..need you.” He rambles, using the only advantage he has against the older man. Peter lifts his hips up, freeing himself of his pants before he wraps his legs back around Beck’s waist and tugs him in close with a squeeze. He rocks his erection against Beck’s hard belly and moans at the delicious sensation it brings him to finally have some relief. Beck however has other plans as he shoves his free hand down on Peter’s hips and effectively separates them with a simple push. Peter could cry if it wasn't so fucking hot.

“Nuh uhn, Princess. Only good boys get to come. Are you a good boy?” Beck asks, looming over Peter, encompassing everything in his vision. Peter's thoughts and attention on a single focus before registering Beck's point. Peter can play this game too.

“Yes Mr. Beck, I’m a good boy..please, I’m good.” Peter whines, giving a keen moan as Beck gives him exactly what he wants. The thick hand is a blessing on his cock. Peter pumps into it frantically, chasing his own pleasure before Beck releases him and makes Peter cry out more. He shouts, frustration welling up inside him as Beck moves his hand away from his body. Peter begs, actually begs to have it back and thinks Beck seriously would leave him like this on his bed, desperate and horny.

There is no warning when a small cold glob touches his sensitive skin. Peter hitches out a long drawn out breath as wet fingers press slowly against his hole. He tugs fitfully against the restraints of Beck’s work, practically shaking with arousal as he lays at the mercy of this man. Peter takes the fingers like a professional and he moans as loud as he pleases, making each noise filthy and desperate to crack Beck into following Peter’s demands.

It’s thrilling, being fucked on thick digits without a care for his own wants. It doesn’t matter how many times he mewls out Beck’s name, the man has a single goal in mind that in any other circumstance could be commended. Peter's words fall on deaf ears, pleading and begging for more and only getting more fingers to spread his ass open and stir up his insides. It comes to a point where Peter simply gets impatient.

He lifts his knee between them and uses his foot to try and dislodge Beck’s overbearing weight that rests on top of him. Fitfully, Peter arches off the bed and manages to get some leverage against Beck. His heart is pumping when he thinks he can break free of his restraints, managing to sit up underneath Beck and craning his neck up to distract the man. Peter nips at Beck’s lower lip, teeth tugging playfully on the man's kiss swollen mouth while he peeks underneath long lashes to look up and catch something flash in Beck’s eyes. Arousal shoots straight to Peter’s dick in anticipation and he watches Beck roughly pull his fingers free from his hole. Peter winches, utterly shuddering as he bites the inside of his lip to keep from screaming.

“Quite the handful, aren’t you, Princess?” Beck hums, pulling Peter up with a hand around his throat, fingers tilting his chin up as Beck forces a slow, measured kiss. Peter closes his eyes, luxuriating in the taste of Beck's tongue in his mouth before he pulls away to snark.

“I know what I want. Either fuck me right or I’ll take it for myself.” Peter threatens, a bit of his usual self coming out of the woodworks while he tests his restraints again. He's almost got it.

“Hrm, lucky you’re so cute. I might have to punish you after though.” Beck muses, his hand tightening over Peter's neck. He would be worried if Beck were to hold him any tighter, though logically Peter knows Beck would never actually choke him to death, the feel of that large thumb across his pulse, how the smallest change in grip could mean the end for him. Peter was shaking with his fight or flight response, cock dripping with pre as he dared Beck with his eyes.

“Bad boys get spankings, you know.” The man didn't take the bait and Peter was back to playing the sweet innocent card.

“..No Mr. Beck. Please don’t spank me. I’ll be good. I just want to feel you already. I’ve waited long enough, no?” Peter bats his pretty eyelashes at the man. He'll do anything to feel that cock, to taste it and own it as his own. Peter is a little surprised with his own thoughts when Beck flips him over and presses him roughly into the mattress. Peter sighs when he feels the heavy weight of Beck's cock, rubbing and teasing his prepared hole. He doesn't know if all of it will fit but by god he's going to try.

Beck spreads his ass with both hands, rutting against Peter's ass in the most torturous and delicious way possible. He can't even find the proper friction against the bed when Beck holds his hips up and keeps a strong hold against his back, pushing his chest down into his sheets.

“Look at you. Such a greedy fucking hole. You’re so thirsty for it, is this enough for you, hrm?” Beck asks, rocking the head slowly until the tip catches. He doesn't push further and Peter is absolutely wrecked.

His entire body shudders when he whines out a defeated, "No-no. Please Mr. Beck. Fuck me, fuck me fuck me." 

He's incoherent with desire but he can't really be blamed when the man he's dating is like sex on legs. Peter bites his lower lip as the cock head pushes in further. It's a tight fit and Beck takes his time pushing in at a maddeningly slow pace. Peter is three seconds away from snarking his complaints until suddenly Beck tugs experimentally back and then slams straight in. The thrust rocks Peter's world, his eyes literally seeing stars as his whole body sings for praise that he takes Beck like a champ. The fucking has sent him straight to thoughtlessness. Anything out of his mouth is gibberish, a cacophony of "please, yes, right there, fuck me, harder harder, yes!" 

Peter can only egg him on and thankfully he's rewarded for being a good boy. Beck's hand wraps back around the nape of his throat, squeezing there as his other hand snakes under Peter's hips to take hold of the neglected, sobbing cock bouncing there. Beck strokes him slowly, a counterpoint to the quick pace Peter receives from behind. It all borders on overwhelming and just right as he cries out, muffled with each heavy thrust into the mattress. Peter can only buck backwards to meet Beck and keep him deep inside where Peter needs it most.

“Taking it so well Princess." Beck praises him and Peter is living for it. The constant thrusts grow more rough and harder as Beck fucks him long and hard. His voice is the only light at the end of Peter's tunnel as he reacts to everything Beck growls. "..fuck, love how tight you are. You like that baby?”

Peter merely nods, eyes closed tight while he drools on his bedsheets, feeling each push spark a spot inside him that makes his vision white out. Beck forces him down and Peter is happy that he can do nothing except take it. Take everything Beck gives him. Peter's face is red with exertion as he lays under Beck's mercy.

“Should I open your windows?" Beck asks, thrusting hard into Peter and watching the way the full length of his cock pushes in and out of the young man's sweet ass. Fucking Peter makes Beck ramble and the things coming out of his mouth—the vague promise in his tone, how he sounds like he'll truly commit to every embarrassing thing he says has Peter on edge. "Pick you up and press you against the glass? Let everyone see what a dirty hole you have? Let everyone see how greedy you are for my cock?”

“Be-Beck!” Peter comes right then, embarrassingly fast with his face buried into the sheets as his whole body is wracked with orgasmic shudders. He doesn't know what sets him off but Beck's fingers work his cock until he's dry and squirming. Peter heaves deep and heavy breaths, panting harshly as each sensation is broadcast inside of him; completely over sensitive as the older man works his body through his pleasure. Peter tightens down impossibly more around Beck's cock and the older man pounds into him relentlessly. The hand wrapped around Peter’s neck feels so tight it’ll surely leave bruises as Beck holds him down. Peter doesn't care though. He's flying so high, brain weakly processing all the confusing emotions inside of him. His mind only truly focuses on one thought and embarrassingly enough, Peter thinks he's falling in love. Beck thrusts start to lose rhythm as he uses Peter's body so roughly; and for a split second Peter thinks the fucking will last forever. But then he feels Beck slam his hips once, with finality, cock pushed balls deep until Peter can feel the cock inside him spurt, filling up his insides, just as Beck shouts out his name. Peter slumps, completely exhausted and boneless against the bed the second Beck pulls out. He can feel the gush of come spill from his ass, thinks about what a mess he must look like and can't even bring himself to care. He’s so sleepy after such an intense fucking and yet there is still a part of him that wonders when they'll get to fuck like that again.

He’s only faintly aware of Beck cleaning his body up with a wet rag before Peter promptly passes out.

* * *

Peter wakes to the smell of pancakes and the sweet, intoxicating scent of bacon. His eyes snap open and he feels a pleasant twinge in his back from the rough handling last night. He looks over all his new bruises, feeling a sharp warmth that spreads through at looking over the end results. He tugs on the only clean shirt he has and digs around for at least some boxers. Looking at himself through the mirror, he knows exactly what he looks like as he comes into the kitchen and leans on his countertop.

"Morning." He feigns a sleepy, innocent tone as he stretches and waits to feel Beck's hands on his skin.

"Morning Princess, sleep well?" Beck asks, clearly ignoring Peter who pouts as he sinks like a puddle into the granite.

"Yea I guess.." he murmurs, giving Beck a defeated puppy look as a last bid chance.

"Is that so?" Beck asks, glancing at Peter and reaching a hand out to the young man. He peels himself from the counter and allows himself to get wrapped up in Beck's strong arms. Peter sighs, squirming only a little to test Beck's hold. "This what you wanted, Petey?"

"Mmhm." Peter purrs, wiggling his hips back against Beck's body.

"Well too bad, it's breakfast time. Eat first, maybe sex later." Peter squeaks, experiencing the effortless way that Beck lifts him up before Peter is deposited into a chair. He sighs, defeated as he waits for his plate and eats as Beck asks. Peter's appetite is huge and they eat in relative peace before the younger man starts asking questions.

"You know, I meant to ask you. How're you able to lift me and toss me around like I'm nothing. I can barely tell when you're bending down to do it." Peter explains around a mouthful of pancakes.

Beck merely chuckles. "It's a dance move. I learned it when I was in college."

"You majored in dance during college?" Peter snorts, looking incredulously at Beck, trying to imagine him in a tutu.

"No, only an elective." Beck elaborates, smiling at how much fun Peter seems to be having. "But I was very good at it. Kind of learned that everyone has their own energies that they give off. Once you can read those energies, you can sort of predict which way they're going to go."

Peter let his fork clang loudly on the plate, staring at Beck incredulously. "That's not true."

"It is!" Beck defends and Peter's face scrunches up. He doesn't believe Beck at all and Peter shakes his head, cleaning the table of all the plates. Beck comes slowly up behind him, his hands grope at Peter's body that sends shivers down his spine. "Look I can show you." 

Beck shows Peter exactly what he means. At first Peter thinks that Beck is leading his body into the direction Beck wants. That Peter is simply reading Beck's body cues. But then Peter starts to feel it. The sensation is not like anything he's ever felt before. The two of them move in sync, almost as if they're bodies are one without even touching. Peter goes along for the ride and he can feel Beck all around him, just one warm, protective presence. Then Peter thinks back to the club and how different it feels to dance with Beck now. There's no music, no stifling heat from other bodies bumping and grinding against them. It's only Peter and Beck and a strange intimacy Peter can't quite place. Has this feeling always been here?

Peter stares into Beck’s eyes and he can feel himself getting lost. Beck is handsome and smart witted and charming. For a moment Peter can't believe that Beck is real and yet there he stands before the young man. Peter lifts up on his toes to give a genuine kiss to the man, his body moving of its own accord as Beck also leans down to meet him. Peter is interrupted unfortunately by the ring of his cellphone. The jingle snaps him out of his daze and Peter pulls away, embarrassed by his own lovesick actions as he excuses himself from the room to take the phone call. “Yes?”

“Hey Spidey. Got an update on your target, teams finally got a photo of the guy. ‘M texting it to you. Think you can get the job done tonight?” Wade’s dulcet tone pipes up and Peter doesn’t know why he thought it would be anyone else. He squares his shoulders and tries to be as quiet as possible.

“Just send me the details and I’ll do my part.” Peter explains, a little annoyed by the question. Of course he can do it. This is his job after all.

“Right-o Spidey-o. Aannd sent. Happy hunting!” Wade chirps, hanging up almost as soon as the text chimes through. Peter rolls his eyes at the theatrics, before pulling his phone away to check his messages. The moment the text window is opened he can’t believe what he sees. At first he thinks it has to be a mistake. Wade is messing with him, or maybe MJ accidentally cropped the wrong part of the photo. Peter paces the room, trying to figure out what to do because this is _not_ okay. He feels so many emotions simultaneously that it nearly becomes too overwhelming to stand.

This can’t be real.

And yet the smarter part of Peter’s brain, the one that’s kept himself alive all this time, kept him safe through all these years is telling him that this is the only thing that makes sense. The agency wants him to murder Mysterio. Who also happens to be the man he’s been dating.

Beck _is_ the rogue agent.

* * *

Peter lets Beck leave because he can’t handle having him in the apartment. It's smoother than he would like but Beck has work and Peter pretends as if nothing is amiss. Internally Peter just wants to scream. He wants to destroy everything in sight and demand answers. He wants to know if any of this had been real but instead, he flips gears. He can’t approach this like a lovesick puppy. He’s a professional, so he acts like it.

Peter's cooking dinner when Beck comes back home. The apron is tied tight around Peter's waist and underneath it, he’s already changed, wearing the least sexiest thing on the planet. A turtleneck. Sharpening a blade slowly, Peter beams a small little smile at Beck who hovers at the door.

“How was work?” He asks, feigning chipper while he lets the slide of metal against metal fill the silence between them.

Peter can’t read Beck’s expression but he knows that Beck is watching him, watching the way he handles the knife and how it glides across the sharpening tool with a vicious ring.

“It was quite boring actually. Doesn’t seem as exciting as what you’ve got cooking in that oven." Beck crosses the threshold and comes over, peeking around as he wraps an arm around Peter's waist. "What did you make?”

“Pot roast.” Peter hums, placing the knife down to check on the steamer. He let’s the machine sizzle as it lets out all the hot air, purposeful as it makes Beck step away from him. Peter waits for it, beaming a grin before reaching to pick the whole thing up. 

“Leave it there, it’s only us, so no need to crowd the table.” Beck offers, closing the distance again as Peter catches the discreet way Beck takes the large knife from the countertop, doing the cutting of the meat for them. Peter smiles, carrying the plates and setting them down on the table without a thank you.

“Bread?” Peter asks, pulling out yet another large--yet long this time--serrated blade from his apron and slices a few pieces up. He knows Beck is definitely watching him now. Peter can feel the heavy weight of Beck's gaze the same way he knows that the truth will come out soon. They’re both armed and Peter sits down, setting some bread on his plate before he digs into the food he prepared.

“Thanks..I’ll just toss these in the sink.” Beck comes over to the table. He takes the bread knife from Peter as well, making his way back to the sink and letting the knives clatter in the metal tub to be washed later. He drags the knife block with the remaining blades over to the sink and sets it inside as well, hoping to be discreet.

Peter waits, watching Beck sit down before the young man pulls out yet _another_ normal knife this time from nearly out of thin air. He uses it to cut the meat on his plate into smaller pieces and merely smiles towards Beck when he looks up. For once Peter can see a crack in what he thought was an untouchable confidence in Beck's expression. 

There’s a long, exhausted sigh that draws Peter’s attention and he tilts his head innocently towards the man across the table. “Alright, what’s going on?”

Peter blinks owlishly, pure and confused as he stares at Beck like the older man is the one acting crazier than normal.

“Peter.” Beck warns only once.

Peter’s charade breaks almost instantly. He glares at Beck, at the killer who tricked him before he reaches under the table and tosses Beck’s mask at the older man. He found it among Beck's things and it only served to fuel Peter's anger.

“Well, Beck. Want to explain this?” Peter asks, stabbing a piece of meat particularly roughly with his fork but not putting it in his mouth. He lets the utensil sit there, pressed into the roast piece, watching the blood pool across the plate as he waits.

“What, my Halloween costume?” Beck lies and Peter can feel the anger boiling his insides. He tosses the knife in his hand and it goes flying across the table before lodging cleanly into the wall. It very nearly misses Beck’s eye.

“I'm warning you only once..” Peter says, his voice low, threatening as he pulls out another knife from his apron. He looks up, staring directly into Beck’s eyes, demanding an explanation. The silence between them could actually, quite literally be cut.

However, with all pretenses gone, Beck moves a little too fast for Peter's liking.

Beck shoves the table so hard it hits Peter's chest and the younger hitman loses the upper hand as he watches out for any weapons. Peter tosses a plate and it shatters across the wall, leftover food dripping to the floor.

Beck kicks the table over and even more food and plates crash into the ground as he uses the wood for cover. Peter tosses another knife, shouting in anger.

“Pete, stop!” Beck begs, hiding where Peter can’t see him, biding his time for the right moment to probably snap his neck.

“You lied to me!” Peter rushes to the side of the table and doesn’t find Beck there. Instead there’s a sharp pain in his side and if he hadn’t moved on pure instinct, it would have been a serious cut as he avoids Beck’s second jab. Peter slashes for the weak points, filled with rage and adrenaline as he chases after Beck. “How long did you know?! Was this another one of your games?”

 _“Listen_ to me.” Beck hisses, kicking Peter back into a wooden cabinet. The glass doors break and he’s only slightly dazed when he gets up and tosses another knife, effectively lodging it into Beck’s thigh. Beck shouts in pain as he tears the knife out, waving it wildly in the air as he approaches Peter. “I was never going to hurt you. You have to believe that.”

Peter kicks Beck’s legs out from under him and gives the large body a few kicks, practically spitting as he grabs another knife and stabs downward. Beck rolls out of the way in time. “We're professionals. That's our _job._ You faked it all just to get close to me!”

“No!” Beck kicks Peter’s hand, trying to make him drop the knife before wrestling him to the ground. Beck punches Peter in the gut only so he can take the rest of the knives out of the apron. Beck stabs Peter in his arms and catches him in places that are surely meant to delay his movements. Peter isn’t playing the weak little boy anymore however, as he shows just how brutal he can be with a swift kick to Beck’s balls. The man rolls off, staggering to the other side of the room with a groan and a weak attempt to stop Peter from coming closer. “No, Peter...If you're going to believe anything..I love you.” Beck’s voice is a broken wheeze and Peter rolls off the floor, kicking the table leg clear off to use as a bat.

 _“Liar_!” He screams, swinging at Beck and catching the man in the gut. Peter swings again onto Beck’s back. “You're trying to kill me!”

“It's self-defense, baby, I swear. Please!” Beck retorts, allowing Peter a few more swings before he yanks the table leg clean from his hands and uses it to stand up. Peter backs up, searching around the room for anything to defend himself with.

“Is Beck even your real name?!” He yells, trying to distract Beck from swinging.

“Technically! Yes!” The look in Beck’s expression is crazed and Peter’s pretty sure his own makes him look high strung too. Everything is so sharp in the room and he nearly trips over the ruined dinner. “It’s—my first name is Quentin, but that’s not a lie! You just chose to keep calling me by my last name!”

“Quentin?! QUENTIN? Are you kidding me right now!? How can you joke in a situation like this?!” Peter hedges with a shaking fist. He takes a swing when Beck gets too close and that’s a mistake because Beck uses that to his advantage.

“It’s not a joke, Peter, just _stop_!” Beck manages to wrangle an arm around Peter’s throat and squeezes. He misjudges Peter's flexibility however because he uses all his training to worm out of Beck’s grip and punch the man in the solar plexus as hard as he wants. Beck coughs, crashing to the floor as Peter swipes the nearby knife from the ground and pounces.

He has the upper hand, no hesitation, he has to do it, or he’ll die, right here, right now.

But Beck does the unexpected and lowers his hands.

“I can’t..Sorry, Princess.” Beck sighs, coughing as he lays across the floor and let’s the makeshift table leg drop to the side.

This isn’t right.

Beck has to fight back. Peter needs him to fight back and he begs as he shouts down at the man. “Don’t!” Peter raises the combat knife higher, trying to threaten Beck to defend himself. Peter’s near tears as he shakes Beck’s collar, yelling for the other man to fight back. “Come on!”

Beck sighs, breathing slowly as he stares up at Peter, waiting for the killing blow. It feels like hours before Peter moves. He stabs the knife down into the ground, splintering the wood with a broken hiccup.

“Fuck..fuck!” Peter curses, his whole body shaking as he tries to loosen his death grip on the weapon that almost took Beck away from him. He's startled when Beck’s fingers pry Peter’s grip from the knife, just as the young killer takes great, big, heaving gasps. His hand quakes while Beck twines their fingers together before finally Peter collapses on top Beck’s chest.

Peter punches Beck's shoulder out of frustration still needing to hurt him for all the suffering he caused but evidently too tired to actually follow through with his mission. He tugs the older man roughly into a hard kiss as he tries to process his erratic emotions. Beck wraps his strong arm around Peter’s small waist and it's almost like everything in the world makes sense again. The chaos simply slots into place as Peter calms down from his anger. Beck tenderly brings his hand up to pet through Peter's hair, smoothing it down and out of his face before rubbing his palm down along the curve of his back. Beck leans forward and kisses each bleeding wound he caused across Peter's beautiful face and neck. His mouth is soft while Peter shakes above him, processing what this means for them both.

Peter’s panting with each searing kiss, his body full of adrenaline and endorphins firing back to back as he grows hard against Beck's leg. He stares down at Beck and then at their joined hands. Peter wants to say something but Beck beats him to the punch, kissing his mouth slowly, letting their bodies speak for each other. Beck starts to tug at Peter’s ruined clothing, tearing the rest of the apron off and taking away the stifling turtleneck to reveal more of Peter’s marked skin.

Beck touches each wound like a promise and even though there’s a slight sting of pain at first, Peter’s shaking for different reasons by the end of Beck’s questing fingers and lips. The younger man rolls his hips slowly, grinding down hard against Beck while his bruises and his cuts are pushed like buttons in a game. He doesn't wait to ask. Peter simply digs under his lap for Beck’s zipper, fumbling only slightly for a moment because he doesn't want to let go of Beck's hand, before Peter pulls the thick cock free from its confines. Peter shifts, holding their cocks against each other as he lets out a shuddering moan. Beck grips tightly on his waist and slowly guides him as Peter puts their cocks against each other. Neither of them last long, already so high keyed with their own body chemicals and the exhaustion of their fight. They both lay there on the floor, in the aftermath of their fight. Glass shards litter the floor and Peter's going to need new furniture to replace the broken stuff.

In the comfortable silence and the haze of their shared afterglow, Peter has to ask. "..What did you do..to have your agency turn on you?" 

"I stopped following orders.." Beck heaves out a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling. "I refused to kill someone. And then I started killing the people who tried to hire me as a way of..giving the assholes who truly deserve to die what they asked for. Agencies from all over have been sending idiots after me ever since."

Peter has so many questions swirling in his head but the only one that comes out is, "was it worth it?"

Beck sits up, abrupt as Peter tightens his grip on their hands, trying to stop the larger man in some knee jerk reaction to the sudden movement. He blushes, clearly embarrassed how jumpy he is when Beck lifts up Peter's chin to gaze into his eyes. They stare at each other and Peter knows what Beck is going to say before it's out of his mouth.

"Yea. It is."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!  
> If I need to add more tags let me know I wasn't really certain what to tag on this piece. This is also unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors or confusion
> 
> If you wanna join a cool server for more spiderio fun, here's a link https://discord.gg/6wFsB2f


End file.
